


Here's To Ties

by gymwrites



Category: Gymnastics RPF
Genre: F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9319709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gymwrites/pseuds/gymwrites
Summary: Aly Raisman and Aliya Mustafina host their annual Chrismukkah dinner.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The Raistafina Chrismukkah one shot I finally got around to finishing - better late than never. Hope it warms the heart a little :)

“Hello? Anyone there?”

McKayla Maroney pokes her head through the arched entrance door. She unwraps a thick woolly scarf around her neck, a bagful of elegantly wrapped presents balanced against her hip.

Pausing for a moment to even out her slightly labored breathing (she had decided to take the ten or so flights of stairs up to the penthouse, rather than the private elevator), McKayla pricks up her ears. The comfortable silence of the warmly lit hallway is peppered every now and then with distant clanks of pans against a stove, the sudden on and off of a tap, and the muffled sounds of playful scolding.

She waits. Sure enough, a thundering patter of footsteps rapidly grows ever closer. McKayla grins. Dropping the heavy bag to the floor, she bends down just in time to catch the enthusiastic ball of energy hurtling towards her.

“Aunty Mack! Aunty Mack!”

“Mimi! God, I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re a full grown lady now!” McKayla laughs as she sweeps five-year-old Amira up into her arms, planting a kiss on her forehead. With her free hand, McKayla reaches up to brush a few wild strands of dark brown hair out of the excited girl’s eyes. 

“Are any of those for me?” Amira eyes the bag of goodies on the ground, searching for something with her name on it. 

“Maybe. You’ll just have to find out later tonight, when your mommies officially start the gift-opening ceremony.”

Slightly deflated, Amira sighs and rests her cheek against McKayla’s shoulder. 

“That won’t be until _forever_. Gifts start only after we eat all the food first.”

McKayla raises an eyebrow, a tiny smile hanging on her lips. “And just how much food have they cooked this time?” 

Lifting her head to look seriously into McKayla’s eyes, Amira leans in to whisper, “A _lot_. And...” Amira’s hushed voice trails off.

“Let me guess. We have to judge who Queen of the Kitchen is again?”

Amira chews her lip and nods silently. McKayla’s eyes glint with anticipation. “I see. Well, then. We had better go and make sure they haven’t started World War III.” Bending down to scoop up the bag, Amira’s arms still wrapped tightly around her neck, McKayla starts striding down the hallway.

* * *

True to Chrismukkah tradition as celebrated by the Mustafina-Raisman household, it looks like the Big Bang took place on their massive oakwood dining room table. Every inch of it is covered in food, glorious food. Crispy, golden brown latkes sidled with applesauce, a huge pot of steaming solyanka ringed with mushroom pies, leafy salads galore, a roast chicken with Seda and Laurie’s names on it, a mountain of pelmeni accompanied by generous dollops of sour cream... It’s as if all the exertion that normally goes into winning Olympic medals has been channelled into creating the most magnificent Chrismukkah feast the world has ever seen.

Aliya Mustafina and Aly Raisman stand side by side at the head of the table, exhausted, but feeling like they’ve accomplished something great. Milling around the table is what over the years has become their big, jumbled Russian-American extended family - Simone, Masha, Laurie and Seda jabbering away about their planned trip to the Cayman Islands, Dasha and Madison swapping bar coaching tips, Gabby and Viktoria bent over an intense game of chess.

Looking sideways over at Aly, Aliya takes a moment to appreciate her partner’s adorably flushed cheeks, the crystal lashes she had spent a full hour applying, and the super nerdy Santa hat she has on. Feeling Aliya’s gaze on her, Aly turns and grins at her.

“What?”

Fighting back the impulse to tell the American she looks ravishing tonight and perhaps maybe they should cancel the Chrismukkah dinner right now so they can... have some time to themselves... Aliya bites her lip and instead fixes a careful smile on her face.

“Your - how you say - lat-kee? Taste good. But little burnt.”

Aly shoots Aliya an indignant look. “I _never_  burn those. They’re perfect.”

Aliya chuckles. “We will see.”

A joyous chorus of greetings from the Olympians in the room distracts them from their pre-competition banter. 

“Sorry I’m late! Work at the studio was _crazy_.” McKayla’s signature exuberance brightens the festively decorated room even more. She sets Amira down onto the floor and immediately goes around to pull each of the other girls into a fierce embrace. This is the one time of the year Team USA and Team Russia get to be in the same room together - a near impossible feat, what with their combined number of international competitions, TV appearances, judging panels and coaching workshops to attend.

Aly and Aliya both make their way over to the beaming vault champion, elated at McKayla’s arrival. Now the party - and fight for this year’s Queen of the Kitchen title - can really get started.

* * *

“ _Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha'olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel_ Hanukkah.”

Amira claps her hands in delight as Aly lights the final candle on the menorah. Hugging her daughter close, Aliya’s joy is more contained, but no less genuine. Every time Aliya watches Aly say blessings on behalf of their family, she never fails to get shivers at how beautiful the Hebrew language sounds, how special it feels to share this moment with the people who mean most to them. 

Aly sets down the lighter and grins around at the illustrious bunch seated around the table, noting with satisfaction the empty plates and bowls spread out on the table. The guests, for their part, feel like they won’t have to eat for another week. At least. 

“Aliya, Amira and I just want to say how grateful we are that you all could make it again this year. You guys are as close to family as family can be. Chrismukkah is about bringing people together, regardless of faith, background, nationality, and...” Aly chokes up as a surprising wave of emotion hits her. Everyone exchanges small sympathetic smiles at the sight of the former American team captain tearing up. Despite the rivalry between their countries they have all known for most of their lives, the last few years have knitted them closer together, more than anyone had expected. 

“Yes,” Aliya steps in gently. She slides her hand into Aly’s. “You are all very important to us.” Amira, sensing the gravity of the moment, sends the most love-filled smile she can muster up towards her mom.

Finding the strength in Amira’s smile and Aliya’s touch to pull herself together, Aly decides to steer the night towards a lighter note.

“Speaking of important, it’s time to count your votes to see who this year’s Queen of the Kitchen is!” 

Aliya nods. “After lose to me in the last year, Raisman is not let me hear the end of it. When she lose again tonight, we all can have at last peace.”

“Excuse me, it doesn’t count as winning if you bribe everyone with expensive Russian vodka that isn’t yet legally available on the market,” Aly retorts. “As I recall, we’re meant to do this all in the spirit of friendly international competition.”

Simone rolls her eyes. “To skip all the drama, we made sure to vote so you both ...Ow!” She suddenly yelps as someone’s foot kicks her in the shin under the table. Viktoria shoots her a barely visible warning that’s immediately replaced with a sweet smile. “Go on, Aly,” the demure Russian says.

Aly gives Viktoria a quizzical look, but continues. “Gabby, would you do the honors?” Both she and Aliya look expectantly at Gabby.  

Gabby clears her throat. "Well... After tallying everyone’s votes for each of the main dishes, it appears we have...” She looks around at the table, trying hard not to laugh at how everyone is avoiding looking directly at Aly and Aliya. “Well would you look at that, I can hardly believe it. A tie. You are both equally amazing in the kitchen.”

“A tie! Hooray!” Amira clinks a silver spoon against a glass, something she’s loved doing since McKayla taught her it’s a secret noise that attracts the faeries to come out and play. It also helps fill in the silence of everyone collectively holding their breaths at Aly and Aliya’s reactions.

Sure enough, their reception to the tie is slightly more suspicious. 

“You guys. We told you - you don’t have to spare either one of our feelings. Vote with no fear of the Russian mafia coming after you...” Aly stifles a grin at the sight of Aliya’s stormy eyes widening.

Before Aliya can fire back a response, Madison quickly and strategically raises her glass in the air. “Here’s to ties!” Sitting across from her are Viktoria and Dasha; they all burst out laughing the second they make eye contact. In wholehearted agreement, the other Olympians around the table follow suit. “To ties!” Mouthfuls of champagne are quickly downed.

Moving hurriedly to muffle the protests of Aly and Aliya, Laurie jumps to her feet and with a flourish of her hand announces, “Okay party people! Seda and I have been working on a little something for the past few days... How does a Russo-American Chrismukkah song sound? _Da-vai!_ ”

* * *

The still of the night merges with soft, intermingled breathing.

Despite the madness of Chrismukkah celebrations, neither Aly or Aliya feel the slightest bit tired. It might be the effects of the peach-tinged, medium-dark Colombian coffee brew McKayla had whipped out and made everyone down in shots. Or the impromptu half-drunken rap Seda and Laurie had conjured up at the last minute, lampooning everything from the FIG to floor judges to Olympic after parties. Amira had passed out from pure exhaustion after the tenth verse.

But mostly, it’s the familiar comfort of fingers laced through each other’s, legs entangled, the scintillating heat of their bodies pressed together, that’s keeping them awake. Moments like these make reality better than dream; sleep, an unwelcome prospect.

Aliya shifts her head slightly so she has a direct view into the deep swirls of hazel against honey, the boundless love in them wrapping around her like a protective blanket. She brings her hand up to trace the outline of Aly’s cheekbones. The Russian doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t have to. Aly smiles, tilting her face in closer, close enough that their noses brush together.

“How many times was that?”

Aliya laughs softly. “Four, I think.”

Aly sighs, closing her eyes for a second to take in a deep breath, and to savor the feeling of not knowing where she ends and Aliya begins. She opens them to find Aliya smiling sultrily at her. It prompts a gentle kiss from Aly. “After the third time I thought there was no way, but wow. That was amazing.”

“We are together so long, and still you are surprised at my superior skills," Aliya chides in mock indignation.

“Superior skills? Do I need to remind you how many times you...”

The Russian leans in to nuzzle Aly’s ear, her hot breath sending ripples of pleasure down Aly’s being, cutting her off mid-sentence. “We call it a tie.”

“I thought you hated ties. Actually, we both hate ties. Like tonight’s dinner. I _know_  my latkes were incredible. No offence to you babe, I know how much time you spent on that soup... what is it called? Sol... sol- something...” The teasing in her voice is palpable.

“Aly?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

Aly can hardly fail to comply. Not with Aliya’s hands suddenly embarking on another insistent exploration beneath the sheets...


End file.
